


After the War

by lividsilk



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cancer, Deathfic, Dissociation, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Married Couple, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 17:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lividsilk/pseuds/lividsilk
Summary: There's a certain terror in love, Taako realizes. A terror in willingly breaking off pieces of yourself and offering them to someone else, to have and to hold, because nothing is forever and one day things might change.And he may never get those pieces back.**An introspection about loss and grief from Taako's perspective. Please heed the tags.





	After the War

Kravitz has had the same alarm for almost ten years, so Taako is completely unironic in his declaration that he can identify Schumann’s _Arabesque in C Major_ in his sleep.

If pressed, he’ll roll his eyes and admit that really, it’s only the first 20 or so seconds, because it never takes his husband longer than that to turn his alarm off and slip out of bed. He never hits snooze, never has, even if he’s only gone to bed three hours prior. This, Taako jokes, is because he’s some kind of alien-robot-monster hybrid that secretly doesn’t need sleep.

Not like Taako, who wakes with the alarm, drifts off as the shower turns on, and wakes again to the sound of clothes rustling. He draws in a deep, shoulder-shuddering breath, stretching legs and arms in tandem as he rolls over onto his side.

"You don't have to get up yet, love,” Kravitz murmurs from across the room. “It’s only 6:30." 

Taako blinks the bleariness from his eyes and grumbles out something incoherent, rolling over onto Kravitz's side of the bed and grabbing at a pillow.

"There's a hot guy half naked in my bedroom, and you expect me to—ah, nope," Taako sighs and closes his eyes. "The shirt's buttoned. Spell's broken. Back to bed I go."

"Only using me for my body, then?" Taako feels the mattress dip beside him as Kravitz sits, his fingers carding through Taako’s bangs.

"Certainly not for those delicious attending physician hours." Taako nudges his head into the touch. "You're home at ten tonight. I know this because I'm fuckin' psychic."

Kravitz chuckles. "Or you finally checked the shared calendar."

"You went through the trouble of setting it up for me, figured I might as well." Taako cracks one eye open, just enough to know where to put the arm he loops around Kravitz's neck. "Can't wait to be done with this bullshit."

"Don't get too ahead of yourself."

"Too late, I'm already making a weekly dinner menu in my head. Primed a frilly fuckin’ apron to greet you every night when you get home, natch, I'm _balls deep_ in this beautiful 9 to 5 fantasy."

“And what are you wearing under this frilly apron?”

“My clothes, dingus,” Taako yawns. “I don’t love you _that_ much that I’m gonna risk sauce splatters on my dick.”

 "Mm, fair. I haven't even had the last interview yet." Kravitz’s thumb traces the shell of his ear, and Taako hums appreciatively.

 "It's _fine_. You're a hot doctor, private practices always have to hire the hot ones. It's the law."

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.” He feels Kravitz lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. “But in the meantime, I have another 16 hours of, uh, what did you—”

_“Delicious.”_

“Right,” Kravitz snorts. “16 hours of _delicious_ shift to get through. I’ll see you tonight, moonbeam.”

“Oh, you fuckin’ _sap,”_ Taako mutters, but he tilts his face up, bleary-eyed, as Kravitz kisses him. Taako sighs against his lips when they part, eyes already closed as he snuggles back under the covers.

“Later, sugar skull.”

 

* * *

 

Taako hears his phone go off as he turns on the shower, the default ringtone for unsaved numbers blaring through the door. He lets it ring, testing the temperature of the water with the front of his foot before stepping under the stream and grabbing a washcloth.

He pulls his hair loose right as his phone rings again, this time with Kravitz's ringtone.

That alone is enough to give him pause; Kravitz rarely calls, and when he does it's because he's driving and has something _absolutely urgent_ to tell Taako, usually involving the grocery list. It's well past when Kravitz should be driving. He shouldn't be calling at all, not at this time of day.

The ringtone cuts off abruptly and Taako frowns, listening for the voicemail notification.

It never comes.

After a moment of silence, Kravitz's ringtone blares from his phone once more.

His hands tremble as he yanks at the taps and fumbles for a towel.

 

* * *

 

**8/27**

**10:03 AM  
** u working sat??

 **1:38 PM  
** I’m not.  
Hint hint: Check the calendar.  
Why?

 **1:42 PM  
** greenwood theater has a lotr marathon  
from 10 to 7  
themed snacks!! probably butterbeer n shit  
i can buy tix  
u can buy me dinner @ 8 ;)

 **1:45 PM  
** Butterbeer is Harry Potter.  
I’m buying dinner? How kind and generous  
of me.

 **1:51 PM  
** it’s all wizards to me  
i know, ur the best ;)  <3  
if i have to be seen w/ u in public wearin  
a cloak its the least u can do

 **1:56 PM  
** The cloak is optional!  
I don’t have to wear it.  
But it’s a fair tradeoff for dinner.

 **1:57 PM  
** no u look hot in it  
follow ur bliss  
live love laugh  
oops sry practicing my trophy wife bullshit

 

 **1:59 PM  
** Not many trophy wives I know with  
a BS in Physics.

 **2:05 PM  
** jokes on u, i only took physics  
so i could make cakes w/ baller  
structural integrity to jump out of

 

 **2:05 PM  
** You can’t yell at me for the chocolate  
sauce thing and then joke about jumping  
naked out of a cake.

 **2:06 PM  
** i never said naked u perv  
no sugar in the bedroom  
its gross

 **2:08 PM  
** That’s okay, no lack of hard  
things I can lick.

 **2:09 PM  
** OH MY GOD

 **2:09 PM  
** Back to work. Love you!

 **2:11 PM  
** u 2 sugar skull  
ducking perv

 

 **8:41 PM  
** Home soon

 **8:42 PM  
** k

 

**8/28**

**9:21 AM  
** saw u called twice  
whats up  
baby?  
plz answer ur phone  
Please.  
Kravitz??

 

 **9:33 AM  
** im on my way

 

* * *

 

"I'm sorry about the insurance joke."

Kravitz opens one eye, wincing against the stark fluorescence and sterile walls of the hospital room. "...The what, love?"

"The fuckin'—" Taako wrings his hands, deliberately lowers his voice as he sees Kravitz’s eye twitch. "The guy we met with last month. 'Cause our health insurance changed, remember?" His thumb worries at his wedding band, twisting it violently around his finger. "And I made that fuckin' stupid joke a-about the payout, and..."

Kravitz reaches out and slides his fingers between Taako's hands, batting nervous fingers away and brushing his thumb across Taako's knuckles.

"You're doing it again."

"I know."

"This has nothing to do with that."

"I—" Taako swallows, pitches his voice down to a whisper. "I know."

"They're gonna take me for a scan soon." Kravitz's voice is sandpaper rough. "I'll be back in about an hour, and we'll have a better idea of what's going on." He reaches up, and Taako leans down into the touch.

“F-fuckin’ seizures aren’t good though, right?”

“I don’t know.”

Taako’s hand comes up, his nails dragging down the curve of Kravitz’s fingers.

“Can I, like, come with you, or…”

“No. I'm sorry.” Kravitz’s thumb brushes across his cheekbone.  "Eat something, okay?"

"Okay," Taako mutters, eyelids fluttering shut.

"Everything's going to be fine, love."

"Okay."

 

* * *

 

Both of them watch the oncologist’s retreating back in silence.

Taako grips the arm of the hospital bed with trembling hands, holding on for dear life as his stomach plunges and the tile below his feet shifts like sand. The weight of the words slam into him and drag him under, leaving him unable to breathe as he slips under the oil slick of lightheaded dread that clings to the surface of their once-perfect world.

Kravitz is the first to breach, to suck in a shaky breath and whisper into the air between them.

"Two weeks."

Taako feels claustrophobic all of a sudden, like his throat is being crushed, like claws are digging into his thighs, and he shoots to unsteady feet with a strangled noise.

"Fuck,” he whispers. His chest burns. “No, fuck, that's not— t-that can't be right. That can’t be—"

His world pitches violently to the left and he takes an unsure step backwards at the same time that Kravitz's hand shoots out to catch him around the forearm, fingernails digging in.

"No," Kravitz says, and pulls Taako forward with such force that his knees bang against the arm of the bed. Another hand fists in the collar of his shirt. "No, no, don't leave, don't leave me—"

"I'm not," Taako stutters, an arm shooting out to steady himself against the mattress. "I'm not, baby, I won't—"

His elbows hit the bed, and Kravitz is still pulling, and Taako goes down in a haze of dizzy disbelief, slipping his arms around Kravitz and holding him tight against him, and his husband buries his face in his shirt and shakes. He runs his hand up and down Kravitz’s back and tucks his chin on top of his head and stares, silent and numb, at the far wall.

 

* * *

 

“D’you know when I first saw you? Like, _saw_ you-saw you? Went, ‘yeah, hot _damn_ , I’m gonna date that fine piece of ass’ saw you?”

Kravitz chuckles, the sound disappearing into Taako’s hair as he maneuvers around the tubes tangled across his arm, cold fingers closing around Taako's wrist.

“The cafe,” he murmurs, chapped lips brushing against skin as their fingers wind together. “You teased me about the sugar skull decal on my laptop.”

“Nuh uh,” Taako says, ducking his head and nuzzling against Kravitz’s neck. “And don’t fuckin’ mess, that was, like, a full month after we saw each other in the study lounge that first time. When you were with Lup.”

“Dunno about that.” Taako feels Kravitz press a kiss to his forehead. “I certainly noticed you. But I wasn’t sure you noticed me.”

“Nope. Wrong. Try again, hombre.”

“I give up.”

“Spoilsport.” Taako brushes his lips against the hollow of his collarbone, pausing just a moment before kissing, as if that would be enough to forever imprint the feeling of soft skin against his lips. “It was the welcome luncheon, before we started our freshman year.”

“The…” Kravitz trails off, brow furrowing as he recalls. “The one I was helping out with? Taking the names for?”

“Yep. I remember wanting to pretend my last name started with any letter that was A through K so I’d have an excuse to hit your fine ass up.”

Kravitz laughs, and Taako’s heart swells.

“I would have made a fool of myself, and you never would have looked my way again.”

“A hot guy like you? Naaaah.”

“Seriously, Taako. I had an entire year to get used to you before you approached me in the coffee shop, and I still—I was a bumbling—I could barely get any words out. I thought my heart would burst when you sat down across from me.”  
  
“But it didn’t.”

“...But it didn’t,” Kravitz agrees, and Taako holds him tighter.

 

* * *

 

He had this romantic notion of bringing Kravitz home and letting him die in their bed, with his books on the nightstand and his favorite pillow beneath his head and his ring in the small ceramic dish by his phone. Comfortable and familiar. Warm and accessible.

One last bid for control against something uncontrollable. 

When they told him he needed a hospice bed, when they told him it would have to be downstairs and when Taako realized Kravitz would never set foot in their bedroom again, he locked himself in the bathroom and shoved that pillow against his face and screamed.

 

* * *

 

“‘Éloran,’ Vonhud said. ‘If you choose to leave, know that you draw my ire.’ Éloran looked to Aludin, his face clouded and troubled. He tightened his grip on his sword. You want some water, baby?”

“M’fine,” Kravitz mumbles, his head heavy on Taako’s shoulder, body tucked securely against his side. Taako drops a quick kiss to his forehead before turning his attention back to the book.

“Aludin stepped forward, his eyes sharp and his pallor grim. ‘Vonhud,’ he said. ‘I propose a deal. If you offer us safe passage to—’” Taako drew in a soft breath. “Eye—Eyebee—”

“Ibleo—” Kravitz’s breath hitches, and Taako feels both of them tense. “I-Ibleosec—”

“Hey,” Taako stutters, not bothering to mark the page as he closes the book and sets it down. “B-baby, hey, what’s—don’t cry, hey, don’t cry—”

"It's not f-fair."

"Sweetie," Taako whispers, warm fingers tracing Kravitz’s jawline. "I—I know."

"No," Kravitz rasps, pushing his forehead against Taako's collarbone and resisting the gentle nudge under his chin. "No, y-you're taking care of me _again_ , Taako, I was supposed to be the one t-taking care of _you_ —"

"I don't care." Taako fingers tremble as they twist in his t-shirt.

"You worked so _hard_ _,"_ Kravitz whispers, choking on a sob. "For me, for _us_ —”

"I don't—"

“You were supposed to relax, g-go to culinary school, you sacrificed _so much_ —"

 _"Stop."_ Taako hears his voice waver under the tension of the word. He gives up on trying to get Kravitz to look up, instead winding both arms tight around him.

He can’t afford to leave any more unsaid.

"I'll do it again,” he whispers, forcing the words out through a tight throat. “I'll do it for a thousand years, K-Krav, I'll take care of you for a thousand years, I fucking _swear_ I will—"

He feels Kravitz’s body shake in his arms, hears him sob against his chest not even a second later. The room blurs over.

“I—” Taako draws in a shuddering breath, resting his chin on top of Kravitz’s head. “I said forever, _we_ said forever, so just, just—”

Another sob, and ten perfect fingernails press sharp into his back as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Just— just don’t leave me.”

He’s crossed a line, he knows; he knows by the way Kravitz collapses against him, by the way his shirt grows wet with tears. He cries into Kravitz’s hair until his breath is thin and his head is pounding, cries until his voice is scratchy and hoarse.

Stupid, he chastises himself.

Stupid and selfish.

Here Taako is, hugging Kravitz just as hard and desperate as Kravitz hugs him, demanding when he should be soothing.

They come down slowly from that shaky precipice, breaths evening out between gentle kisses, wiping the wetness from each others’ cheeks as they slot their legs together.

The silence feels heavy and right, and nothing either of them could say right now is important enough to break it. 

This time, Kravitz takes the proffered glass of water, and he doesn’t protest when Taako’s hand wraps over his to guide it to his lips.

 

* * *

 

“Taako,” Kravitz whispers into the dark warmth of his embrace.

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” the darkness whispers back.

"...I love you."

"I love you, too."

 

* * *

 

One morning, Taako comes in and slips his hand into Kravitz’s and whispers his name. Kravitz opens his eyes and, after a moment, squeezes Taako’s hand.

He never opens his eyes again.

 

* * *

 

He dies on a Tuesday morning.  
  
Taako wakes at 4 AM to a sound he's sure will haunt his dreams forever, a terrible rasp that chills him to the very bone. He slips off the couch and pads over to the bed, watching through a haze of disbelief and numbing clarity as Kravitz's chest wracks with each breath. He unlatches the arm of the bed with trembling hands and pushes it down, gingerly stepping out of his slippers and sliding in next to his husband.  
  
He lies there and combs trembling fingers through his hair, traces the perfect curve of his jaw. He brushes the backs of his knuckles down his neck and shoulder and tries to remember exactly how his eyes shined on their wedding day, how he cried when Taako said yes, how bright and wide he grinned when Taako slipped him his phone number.  
  
He conjures up a new memory between each exhalation, forcing himself to recall more and more as the space between each inhalation grows longer and longer.  
  
The sun crests the horizon, and another breath does not come.

Taako realizes with a placid and unhurried calm that the last words Kravitz ever spoke were three days ago, when he blinked his eyes open and smiled up at him as Taako came into the room.  
  
_”Hey, moonbeam.”_  
  
Taako shifts his ear off of Kravitz’s shoulder and slides his hand down the curve of his bicep.  
  
He should call Lup, he thinks.  
  
He should lie here for as long as he can.  
  
He should just lie here forever.

 

* * *

 

For as quiet as his death was, everything that comes after is far too loud.

 He's sitting in the armchair next to the bed when Lup arrives, his hands twisted in his lap and his shoulders slumped. She looks to Kravitz and then to him and disappears into the kitchen, re-emerging a minute later with a glass of water in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other.

She presses the glass into his hand, presses a kiss to his forehead, and takes his cell phone from where it’s tucked between his thigh and the cushion.

She presses her thumb to the button and Taako's life descends into chaos.

 

* * *

 

Something breaks inside Taako on that Tuesday morning, something that cracks and leaks a slow and steady drip of possessive anger into his veins while he stands in their kitchen and watches somber men dressed in button-ups and slacks pluck at the medication lining the counter. They dump pills into bags and tuck away orange tubes bearing an orphaned name.

Taako wants to beg for those empty bottles back, to peel the labels off and hold them close to his chest and wish this all away.  
  
But that would mean admitting something. Something that looms bigger than him or Kravitz, something that slipped unnoticed into the previously impenetrable world they created between each shared look and quiet whisper.  
  
Taako is not ready to admit to whatever that is.  
  
He’s not sure he ever will be.  
  
He instead circles the kitchen the second they leave, pulling down handwritten notes and lists, rifling through unsorted mail and flipping through every notepad and paper scrap. He tucks away anything written in Kravitz’s hand and thinks about how stupid he was to assume that everything important—every sweet card, every note attached to every bouquet—was already safely stored away.

It’s all important.

He was fucking _stupid_ to think otherwise.

 

* * *

 

Taako has decided that nothing makes sense anymore.

It’s not a conclusion he comes to lightly, but at this point it’s the only reasonable thing to _conclude_. The past week has been nothing short of a nightmare, fuzzy around the edges, leaving him in a perpetual state of dizziness, lightheaded with stomach-plunging nausea.

He only wakes up when the service ends and the pain doesn’t.

The crowd gives him a polite berth as they file away from the gravesite, as Taako stands and waits for _something,_ as Taako realizes he is expected to just go with everyone else. The weight of that realization alone roots him in place, fills him with a claustrophobic panic that makes him itch. The sunlight and breeze of this perfect afternoon swallows him whole, crushes his lungs to dust.

“No,” he says, and chokes on the scent of flowers. “No, no, I can’t just—” He whips his head to his right and, finding no one there, turns to look at Lup. “I can’t just leave.”

“Fuck,” Lup whispers, and ice floods Taako’s veins.

“No,” he says, a little louder, a little more insistent. “No, what the _fuck_ am I supposed to do now, do you just expect me to, to—”

He can’t breathe, and everything feels so goddamn _heavy._

“I can’t,” he says, and his vision swims. Lup winds an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close. The ground spins underneath him. He heaves for breath. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

He sags to one side and feels another strong arm catch him around his waist, hears the rumble of Magnus’s voice as he asks Lup a question.

He doesn’t remember the ride home.

He’s told the reception went just fine without him.

 

* * *

 

“So I’ve portioned out pretty much everything, and I hope you like casserole, because god damn, bro.”

“Thanks.”

“Careful when opening the freezer.”

“Sure.”

“Kitchen’s clean, and so’s the downstairs bathroom.” Lup kicks her suitcase upright, draping her hoodie across the top. “Carey and Killian got you a month’s worth of maid service, so this place had better not be a pigsty when I come back for Christmas.”

“You left orange juice in the fridge for a full fuckin’ calendar year, don’t even pretend like you’ve got your shit in order. Who?”

“Carey Feng and her wife. Friends of ours from undergrad.”

“Why? I don’t know them that well.”

“Hm. Well luckily, I’m the one who wrote out the thank-you cards, so theirs said _thank you so much for your thoughtfulness_ instead of _who the hell are you guys_.”

Taako makes a face, but it softens almost immediately.

“...Thanks, Lup."

“S’fine, babe.” She brushes his bangs back and leans up on tiptoe to kiss his forehead.

Pleasantries are exchanged; Taako promises to answer a text once a week _at least_ and Lup promises to drive safe, and Taako tries so hard not to think about how many other factors have to cooperate to ensure that Lup gets home in one piece.

They hug, and she doesn’t comment on his trembling hands, instead cupping his face and pressing their foreheads together wordlessly.

“Bye, Taako,” she whispers.

“Adios,” he mutters back.

The door closes, and for the first time in his entire life, Taako is well and truly alone.

 

* * *

 

He has to _do shit_ today, and it’s pretty much the fucking worst.

He genuinely loathes days like these, these awkward reminders that the world spins around his stillness, that he is required and even expected to fall in step despite the gaping hole in the middle of his chest.

Every time he thinks he's getting better, every time he thinks those jagged edges are starting to round and soften, something new sharpens him all over again, thrusts the edges of his grief deeper into his core.

Today it's the lawyer, a middle-aged man with a somber face who hands him paper after paper that whittle his husband down to printed letters with no meaning beyond the cold sentiment of _your husband’s dead, so sorry about that, would money help?_

It doesn’t. Nothing about these documents help, actually; each beneficiary line is a sickening reminder that Taako never took Kravitz’s name, and when his eyes flicker from paper to person his vision lags just the tiniest bit. It’s enough to make his stomach roil, and he’s not even _doing anything._

Taako forces himself to pay attention, to listen through cotton in his ears as the lawyer murmurs dollar amounts between condolences, and lets the tip of his pen guide him down the lines of the will Taako had once scoffed at. The words slide over him like a rock skipping across a lake, making only momentary ripples before any hint of their presence vanishes.

He eventually puts pen to paper. Signatures are collected, documents are filed, and the lawyer stands up and extends his hand. Taako looks at him like he’s the insane one for daring to act like this is normal.  
  
“I don’t have to pay you, right?” he says instead.

The answer must have been ‘no’, because the next thing Taako remembers is sitting in the car with his forehead pressed to the steering wheel, desperately trying to keep the world under his feet from spinning.

The sick dizziness passes in time. The drive home is uneventful and slow.

 

* * *

 

They're good about calling and texting. Lup, Magnus, Merle (whose voice texts may as well be gibberish) and even Lucretia—a surprise, because he's never been anything but politely distant to her since the day they met. It's nice, for sure, but sometimes he just wants to unlock his phone and pay for his fucking groceries without the missed calls and unanswered texts staring back at him like some sort of Sisyphean to-do list.

Needless to say, Taako is not very good about answering.

When it first happened, answering text messages just seemed so eye-rollingly inane, the lowest of low-priority bullshit, the last thing he should be worried about while his life came apart at the seams. Lup had stepped up to the communication front with a grace and aplomb that he's never seen before and doubts he will ever see again. This, too, came to an abrupt end when she went back home, leaving Taako with an open window to a world he couldn't be fucked to care about.

He watches the world go by outside of that window, watches the text messages and voicemails and pictures shape a scenery that will always seem flat, will always have someone missing.

Taako eventually answers, and when he does, it’s always with two sentences.

 

* * *

 

He stands in line behind a man with perfect dreads and a gorgeous black coat.

The height is wrong and the cut of his silhouette is off and Taako knows, he _knows,_ that he won’t find what he’s looking for if this man turns around.

But for a single, blissful moment, he lets himself pretend.

 

* * *

 

 _I'm fucking done with being sad,_ Taako thinks, right before he reaches for his phone to check if Kravitz has texted him.

 

* * *

 

After the first couple times, he has it down to a science.

Medicine first, then he washes his face and brushes his teeth, in that order. He’s only slightly fuzzy by the time he puts his pajamas on, more than capable of plugging his phone in and switching to the music player app to queue up the file.

He shoves a pillow under his knees and pulls the covers up and pushes his earbuds in, retaining just enough fine motor control to press the play button and tuck his phone against the mattress.

He takes a deep breath. His eyes flutter shut.

_Hello, darling. Call me back._

_Eggplant! Eggplant, eggplant, that’s what I forgot. I hope you haven’t left already. Okay. I love you._

_Moonbeam. Darling. Dearest. Did you take my library card? Please call me back. Beatrice is very mad at me._

_Hello, dear. I got your text message, but since I only have two thumbs and twenty minutes left, I figured I’d just call you. Never that easy, is it? Okay, to answer your questions: One, I am perfectly fine with lamb, I just think beef is better. Two, I’m working Sunday, but if you want, we can go on Tuesday when _

 

* * *

 

“Got your message. ‘Sup.”

_“Nothin’. I have a question, and I don’t want it to be weird.”_

“Well, y’know, you’ve already made it weird by saying that, so now we’re in some Schrodinger’s Weird-Ass Question Paradox and I’m gonna hate it no matter what—”

_“Fuck oooff.”_

“—So you might as well ask it, Lup.”

 _“Whatever. I, um...I have a birthday gift for you at my house. From_ — _from Krav. He gave me a card, too. I guess I_ — _I just don’t want to cross a line, so I figured I’d ask if you want it? ...Taako?”_

“...When did he give you a card.”

 _“Don’t_ — _Don’t be—"_

“Don’t fuckin’ _tell me_ what to be.”

 _“We just weren’t sure if it was gonna be too soon, or_ _—"_

“Oh, and no one thought to just— to maybe just ask me? Taako’s opinion on the matter didn’t factor into this _fucking_ equation? When did he even have t-time to write a fucking card, I didn’t leave him alone—”

_“Hey, hey—"_

“—I didn’t leave him alone, I was with him the whole _goddamn_ time.”

_“Okay.”_

“Fucking keep it.”

_“Okay.”_

“If he wanted me to have it so bad, he should have fucking given it to me himself.”

_“Okay.”_

“Okay?”

_“Okay. ...Is, uh, is there anything you do want for your birthday?”_

“Honestly?”

_“Yeah?”_

“I kind of just want to be left the fuck alone.”

 

* * *

 

**11/05**

**  
** **10:02 AM  
** i lied  
i want the gift

 

**11/07**

**6:58 PM  
** im sorry

 

* * *

 

"It's my anniversary today."

The barista blinks, more out of shock than anything, Taako assumes. He's been coming in here every day for nearly three months straight, and he's never said a word to her aside from his order. Not even a thank you.

He glances down at the mismatched wedding bands on his finger and twists them in unison. Kravitz wouldn't like that.

"That's—" she blinks again, tilts her head, smiles. "You should have told me, I would have— a-anyway, congratulations! How long’ve y’all been married?"

"Seven years," Taako says, ignoring the fact that it will never be eight. The barista giggles, turns a knob and tilts the carafe this way and that, talking over the din of sputtering milk and steam.

"How’d y’all meet?"

"Here, actually." The dull ache in his chest drowns out any wincing hesitation he might have felt at sharing such precious information. "At that table."

The barista's eyes meet his, filled with a light he'd give anything to find again. "That's _adorable!_ Is he joinin’ you, then?"

Taako waits for the sharp pang of grief to soften before answering.

"I'm sure he would if he could."

"Mm hmm," the barista hums, swirling the milk in the carafe before pouring it into the mug. "Well, here's one vanilla latte to keep you warm, then. Looks like it's gonna snow here right soon." She ends the pour with a flick of her wrist, setting the mug onto the saucer and sliding it towards Taako.

It's a perfect heart, flecked throughout with vanilla bean from the syrup.

"Enjoy, now."

"Cool," Taako rasps, taking the mug and saucer with both hands. A pause, and then, "Thanks."

"Sure thing," she says, and Taako turns away and heads to their table, one side a padded bench and the other a sturdy wood chair that makes his ass hurt, tucked up against a window with potted sill plants whose leaves occasionally spill onto the table's surface.

He slips into the chair and glances at the empty booth across from him and thinks, _hey there, sugar skull._ _  
_

He drinks his latte in silence, his back to the world.

 

* * *

 

It’s 5:20 PM, and he should be getting a text.

_Home soon._

He’d start dinner right about now, he guesses, depending on what he’d planned for that evening. Maybe they’d have dessert on Wednesdays—something from his advanced pastry class, or ice cream topped with something he’d made in his saucier class.

He stands unmoving in the middle of the living room, straining his ears for the tell-tale rhythm of Kravitz’s arrival: the slam of a car door, the hum of the garage closing, and the _click-turn_ of his key in the door.

Nothing comes, and Taako has long since tired of hearing silence ring mockingly in his ears.

He takes the stairs one at a time, careful and quiet, bare feet never straying from the padded runner. He can see their bedroom from the hallway through a door he doesn't close anymore, and just as he left it this morning. He pauses in the doorway and looks at the crumpled sheets and knows, deep down, that he was hoping for something different.

He knows that he will never stop hoping.

At 5:40 PM, not sure of what else to do, he takes his second shower of the day.

At 6:10 PM, he pulls open the bottom drawer of Kravitz's dresser and carefully paws through until he finds the shirt he wants.

At 6:15 PM, he slips into bed and stares at the ceiling and thinks, _maybe it should have been me._

At 6:20 PM, he lifts his head to scowl at the clock and wonder why the medicine isn't working.

A 4:10 AM, he wakes up from a dreamless sleep, and the world is just as still and as breathtakingly dizzy as it was before.

 

* * *

 

The barista's name is Ren.

Taako's not sure when he learned this, or when she learned his name in kind. They’ve slowly built up a kind of familiar repertoire, piling up little bits of the information that shape themselves on the countertop between them. Sometimes he remembers these chats, and sometimes he doesn't. Ren never faults him either way.

He likes Ren, he arbitrarily decides one day. Ren doesn't treat him with kid gloves. Ren doesn't try to give him free coffee. Ren doesn't blink when he orders Kravitz's favorite pastry and shoves it back across the counter untouched. He's sure she's figured it out by now, his whole _deal_ , but Ren doesn't press the issue.

Yes, he likes Ren quite a bit.

Enough so that when he sees the sign on the door one morning in late spring, he marches right up to the register and opens his mouth and says, "Hey, Ren, what the _fuck?"_ in lieu of a greeting.

Ren closes the pastry case and sighs.

"Sorry, Taako. I just found out about it myself."

"Okay, well, still— what the fuck?"

"I guess Jack's just gettin' too old." Ren shrugs and makes her way over to the register. "June's done graduated, and this has always been his side business. Makes sense that he'd wanna sell and move closer to his kid."

"Vanilla latte," Taako snaps, because Ren never fucking assumes, no matter how many times he insists he'll never change. "That's kind of bullshit, dear."

"Don't gotta tell me twice," Ren says, wiping the portafilter with her apron. "But honestly, Taako, sometimes life just is what it is."

 _Ain't that the fucking truth,_ he thinks, even as he feels petulance towards the very notion.

The espresso machine hums to life with the press of a button, and she picks up her carafe.

"Besides, what'd ya expect me do?" She laughs and turns the knob of the steam wand with her thumb and forefinger. "Buy the darn thing out from under him?”

Ren doesn't comment any further after that; not a single word on Taako's silence as she hands over his latte, as he drinks with his back to her, as he hurriedly dumps the empty cup and saucer on the counter and leaves without so much as a "thanks".

Yes, he thinks, he really, _really_ likes Ren.

 

* * *

 

 _"You bought a_ **_coffee shop_** _?!"_

"Jeezy _fuckin'_ creezy, Lup, say it louder, they didn't hear you up on the International Space Station," Taako snaps, fumbling with his car keys. "And to answer your question, yes. Just left the lawyer's."

_"Holy shit, Taako."_

"It's not a big deal." Taako tosses a bulging manila envelope onto the passenger's seat, turns his car on, and taps the steering wheel as he waits for the Bluetooth to connect. "I mean, what the hell was I gonna do with the money?"

 _"I don't know,"_ Lup's voice bursts through his speakers. _"Finish culinary school? Go on a trip or something?"_

"That would be a waste and you know it."

_"You could have just saved it."_

"We've been through this, Lup, all right? I didn't want that fucking money."

_"Okay."_

"I didn't want the money, but I did want this coffee shop, so I bought it. Are we all fuckin' cool with that? Everyone on the same goddamn page? I bought it and it's a done deal."

Lup sighs, but there's a softness to her voice when she speaks next.

_"You always did like playing restaurant when we were little."_

"Yeah, until you threw a hissy fit and wouldn't play with me anymore."

_"You served me toilet water in a fuckin' teacup, Taako."_

"It was _clean_ toilet water—"

 _"I can't fuckin' believe you_ **_still_** — _"_

The conversation pinballs back to the coffee shop right as he pulls into the garage. He blithely ends the call only after giving Lup permission to tell Magnus and Merle but _no one else, for real,_ because if Merle knows, everyone else will by the end of the week and it’ll save him the hassle.

The manila envelope gives a satisfying _thud_ as he slams it on the kitchen table, and around Taako, the world falls silent.

 

* * *

 

He tries to visit his grave only once, on the anniversary of his death.  
  
He cries so hard he ends up throwing up in the car.

 

* * *

 

_"You didn't even go the gravesite?"_

"Nope." Taako tips an egg into boiling water and vinegar, swirling the saucepan with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Still have the flowers, though. They're on the table. Looks nice."  
  
_"So...what did you do yesterday?"_  
  
"What do you mean, what did I do?" He plucks a slotted spoon out of the utensil holder.  "Any other day, right? I came home, made dinner, and conked out early. What the hell should I have done?"  
  
_"Sure. Hey, did you ever go back to see that therapist?"_  
  
"Which one? Doctor Bullshit Platitudes, or Doctor Religious Platitudes? Actually, y'know, doesn't matter. The answer is no, to both."  
  
_"Taako..."_  
  
"What."  
  
_"It's been a year."_  
  
"Yeah, so?"  
  
_"I mean, you might want to start thinking about..."_  
  
"What, o wise one? Tell me what I should be thinking about."  
  
_"You haven't given away any of his clothes, you still have his phone—"_  
  
"And so the fuck what?"  
  
_"You can't even visit his_ **_grave_** —"  
  
"And why the fuck would I, Lup?!" Taako bursts out, slamming the spoon down onto the counter. "Sorry, I didn't realize gravesites were some fuckin' magical fountain of healing _bullshit—"_  
  
_"Taako—"_  

"—That would let me talk to or touch or see my fucking husband again. Oh, wait! I didn't realize that because it's not _fucking_ true, okay? There's literally nothing in this fucking _world_ that will bring him back, so I'm sorry if getting drunk and going through the pictures on his goddamn _cell phone_ isn't the feel-good crock of shit you wanted to hear."

He stopped stirring a while ago. The poached egg is ruined. So is his appetite.

"I don’t know what you wanna hear," he continues, grabbing the handle of the saucepan and tipping the contents into the sink. "But I'm pretty done with people telling me how to _fucking_ grieve."

_"Look, I—"_

Taako slams the saucepan on the stove with a loud _bang_ , reaching over and hitting the 'end call' button before she can say another word.

 

* * *

 

One year to the day since Kravitz was buried, Taako receives the keys to the coffee shop.

It's an emotional affair for everyone _but_ him, and he politely sidesteps as Ren and June and Jack hug their way through tearful goodbyes and promises to keep in touch. The quirks and eccentricities of everything from the freezer door to the fiddly alarm system are duly noted, handshakes are exchanged, and Jack doesn’t even look over his shoulder as he follows June out the door and lets it slam shut behind him.

"I still can't believe you bought it," Ren breathes, wiping a tear from her eye. Taako clicks his tongue, tossing the shop keys onto a stainless steel prep table with a satisfying clatter.

"Well, suspend your disbelief post haste, because I'm about to make some _changes_ around here." Taako glances around the kitchen, and then back at Ren. "Mostly the baking equipment. Look, I know that sounded ominous, but I was talking about the baking equipment."

"Ain't nothin' about you that could sound or look ominous, hon."

"Then I'm clearly not trying hard enough." Taako walks over to the dough mixer, lifting and lowering the head without really paying attention.

"A lot of this stuff isn't bad, just needs a little upgrading. I have enough left over to make this a _really_ nice setup, if we wanted. Get a proper oven for bread and a proofing rack, y'know?" Taako pats the top of the mixer like it's a particularly affable dog. "Maybe we can get some stuff for macarons, if we're feelin' fancy."

"Ooh, _macarons_ ," Ren teases. "My scones ain’t European enough for them delicate sensibilities of yours?"

"I'm not a culinary school dropout for _nothing,_ Ren, I have _standards,"_ Taako sniffs.

“Well, all right there, Mister Standards,” Ren says with a wink. “Just tell me before you get rid of ol’ Carlton, here. I know just how to make him behave so my scones come out perfect.”

“We can keep Carlton,” Taako blurts out, and Ren laughs before he fully realizes what he’s said.

 

* * *

 

“Y’know,” Lup says, “I was gonna give you shit about this croissant, but I don’t think I can even goof ‘cause it’s _fucking incredible,_ Taako. Like, _damn._ ”

“Right?” Taako smirks, swirling the froth of his latte around in his mug. “Worth the price point, if you ask me and anyone worth a damn in the tri-county area.”

“Yeah, for real. And this coffee is top notch.”

“Ren knows her hot bean juice, for sure,” Taako drawls, earning him an admonishing “how many times’ve I toldja not to call it that?” from behind the counter. Lup smiles through their banter and even tosses some jibes Taako’s way, squawking indignantly when Taako swipes her croissant off of the plate and takes a big bite out of the end (“That’s the best part, Taako, what the _fuck!"_ ).

“This is nice,” Lup eventually says, as the conversation winds down. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t really remember this place that well, but it’s cute.”

“I’ll remodel eventually,” Taako says with a haphazard shrug. “Wanna switch out the display cases, they don’t do all my new shit justice.”

“You’re keeping this, though, right?” Lup says, knocking on the solid wood of the corner table where they’re seated, tucked up against a window. “This seating sitch, I mean, ‘cause this is fuckin’ _choice_ right here.”

“Damn straight it is, why do you think I came here so often? Cozy as fuck.” Taako kicks one leg over the other and pointedly ignores the look Lup gives him, the look that tells him she knows exactly why he spent so many unrushed mornings here.

“...Hey,” she says eventually, and the softness in her voice makes Taako’s back tense and his shoulders straighten. “I, um. I’m not gonna say this is what he wanted, because, fuck, that’s so stupid. Of course this isn’t what he wanted, not for himself or you. But,” she continues, “I...I think he’d be proud.”

It takes a moment for the full intensity of the words to hit Taako; he’s spent so much energy and focus trudging towards this moment, trudging towards _every_ moment. Taako has always been good at putting one foot in front of the other, even when he doesn’t know where he’s going, and he never falters in the knowledge that he doesn’t have to move forward but he does have to  _move._  

He’s forced himself out of bed and into the shower, pushed himself into some semblance of normalcy, spurred on by one simple thought: _Kravitz wouldn’t want this._

Kravitz wouldn’t want him to mope. Kravitz wouldn’t want him to spend the entire day in bed. Kravitz wouldn’t want him to slack off on his hygiene. Kravitz wouldn’t want him to sit and pick at his nails and stare at the wall with dead eyes and a mind so wrapped up in memories that he missed the here and now.

He realizes with a shocking clarity how wrong he’s been, and another perspective clicks into place.

There were many, many things Kravitz hadn’t wanted him to do. Kravitz hadn’t wanted him to work two jobs right out of college. Kravitz hadn’t wanted nearly three years of horribly mismatched schedules where Taako was just awake enough to kiss him good morning and Kravitz fought sleep long enough to kiss him good night. Kravitz hadn’t wanted to spend two more years in their apartment, Kravitz hadn’t wanted Taako to put off furthering his education, and Kravitz hadn’t wanted the circumstances that led to Taako having to support them.

But through all of the things they didn't want— through imperfect situations and unbalanced work days and whispered promises of _this will be worth it_ — Kravitz knew that Taako was doing everything he could, and Kravitz loved him unconditionally.

He's never considered that Kravitz would be proud of him.

“Taako,” Lup says, and snaps him out of his reverie with a gentle touch to his hand, curled white-knuckle tight around his mug.

He looks up, and is surprised to find tears in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I just—” She pauses, and gives him a watery smile. “This is...I think this is the first time I've seen you cry.”

He blinks, and something hot and wet slices down his cheeks.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t expect it to get easier.

Which is fair, because it doesn’t.

Taako was right when he told Lup that nothing in this world would close that hollow gap, fill in the space where his husband’s love had resided. The jagged edges of his anger soften against the trickle of seconds into minutes into hours into days, but while he lets himself acknowledge the raw wound of his grief, he makes no move to stitch it up, preferring to press against that ache like a bruise blooming anew.

His grief, he thinks, is all he has left of Kravitz.

That’s not to say he doesn’t move forward, because he does; he attends Ren’s wedding and then Lup’s, finding solace in still being able to recognize a loving glance and a caring touch, even if he has to find it reflected in the shattered remains of his own heart. Magnus and Julia adopt a child, a whip-smart little boy with beautiful eyes who wants to be a doctor.

Taako loves him, and that surprises him the most out of anything.

There’s so much more that come to fill his days: graduations and parties and birthdays and the occasional funeral. The cafe expands its bakery section, he slowly replaces and upgrades equipment, and eventually finds the courage to follow through with the small house renovations he and Kravitz had planned a lifetime ago.

He is by no means cured, or healing, or whatever placative bullshit they prefer to use for widowers nowadays. The wound festers over more often than he cares to admit, twice a year but sometimes more, leaves him unable to even breathe against the crushing weight of his fury and anger and heartbreak, blind to everything but the unfairness of it all.

It never lasts long.

It also never gets easier.

 

* * *

 

A balmy morning almost 20 years later finds him where it almost always does, in the back of Refuge Bakery and Cafe at 4:30 in the morning, checking on the loaves in the oven and testing the corners of proofed croissants with his finger. He doesn’t feel quite right today, but as long as he isn’t sneezing, he’s hesitant to trust anyone else with his morning ritual.

The baguettes come out of the oven just as perfectly as they went in, and he sets them out to cool before taking a deep breath and resolving, just for a moment, to take a break before the next batch.

There’s something that compels him away from his usual chair in the back, urges him out into the cafe proper, leads him to a familiar table tucked up against the window with a padded bench on one side and a chair that makes his ass hurt on the other. He hesitates only for a moment before sliding onto the bench, scooting over just enough to feel the lingering pre-dawn chill that seeps through the glass.

He leans his head against the window and watches the streetlights turn off as the sun crests the horizon.

He closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> To [ltdominic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltdominic/pseuds/ltdominic), who is an endless fountain of inspiration and support, and to [shinykipp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinykipp/), who is the literal antithesis of this fic but still encouraged and supported it.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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